How I learned to be more present with meditation

“The present moment is full of joy and happiness. If you pay attention, you will see it.” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh

A few years ago, I moved to a new country with two children under the age of two.

The idea seemed exciting at first – a new start, a new place, a life by the sea. But the excitement quickly fades when you realize you don’t even know a single person. No friends to call. No family nearby. There is no one to sit with you on a difficult day and just listen.

I was not prepared for such loneliness. The deep, quiet kind that creeps in—not dramatic, not visible to anyone else, just a low hum of disconnection that follows you around all day. I had two beautiful children who needed me completely and I was thankful for them every day. But gratitude and loneliness can live in the same heart at the same time. I was learning that the hard way.

The hardest part wasn’t the big moment. It was the smaller ones. I wanted to see my friend again and again and remembered that there was no one to call. They all lived in other countries. When one of my children fell ill and I had no one to help me. When I saw other moms laughing together in the park and felt invisible even in the crowd.

Building new friendships takes time. The real—the kind that goes deep, the kind that someone really knows you—doesn’t happen quickly. So I waited. And I started to lose myself little by little while waiting.

I tried to meditate. Everyone said it would help. I downloaded apps, I sat quietly, I tried to follow my breath. And I failed, again and again, in the most ordinary of ways. My mind was restless. I’ll sit there trying to find peace and instead find a running list of things I haven’t done yet.

I still don’t know how to meditate well, honestly. And for a long time, I thought there was something wrong with me.

What I understand now is that I did not fail to appear. I was just trying to enter it through a door that didn’t seem natural to me at the time. I needed movement before silence. I need color, air, curiosity and something gentle to hold my attention.

Photography has always made me happy. Before I knew why, there was something about picking up a camera that changed my mood—like a quiet reminder that beauty existed and I was allowed to find it. So one day, in the midst of all that loneliness, I picked up my camera again.

Not to create anything impressive. Do not create a portfolio or post something nice online. Just go outside, walk, and see what I notice.

I started breaking the rules I was taught about photography—composition, lighting, the perfect shot. I, in my own quiet way, became a photography rebel.

I pointed at my camera which caught my eye, however imperfectly, however small. A shadow on the wall. Especially the color of the sea in the afternoon. I passed the texture of something ordinary without seeing it a hundred times.

And something happened that I didn’t expect.

Not because I forced it. Not because I was following any strategy or program. But creativity, I discovered, gave my anxiety less room to take over. When you’re really looking—really noticing what’s in front of you, deciding how to frame it, feeling curious about the light—your mind is too busy living to worry. Too busy to play sorry.

I call it getting into the happy zone. The place where you forget, temporarily, about loneliness and exhaustion and guilt. Because there was guilt, too—the special guilt that can come when someone is completely dependent on you. The feeling that you don’t deserve time for yourself. To step away, even for fifteen minutes, is a kind of betrayal.

But I kept going back. Because I came to a different house every time. lighter. more present More myself. Ready for the next day, the next little need, the next moment of simple beauty that I might have missed if I hadn’t trained myself to see it.

Mindful photography has given me back something I didn’t know I’d lost—my own focus. Not just attention to the world around me, but attention to myself. The practice of noticing external beauty gradually taught me to notice my own inner state. to check in To ask: What do I need today? And to answer honestly: Fifteen minutes with my camera outside and willing to be playful.

You don’t need to be a photographer. You don’t need an expensive camera or a beautiful location or any technical skills. All you need is your phone and fifteen minutes and the will to find one thing – a color, a shade, a small detail that caught your eye today.

Let yourself be curious about it. Allow yourself to be a little rebellious with it. Forget the rules. Forget the perfect shot. Just notice. Just play.

Because sometimes the thing that brings you back to yourself isn’t persistence. Sometimes it’s just a simple matter of searching and seeing what’s out there.